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Arnor and Fallos: Melee
Things had never been picture perfect within the children of sanguine and darkness. Between dismal, loveless marriages, violent, vengeful disputes, cold estrangements, old rivalry and bitter grudges, the familial ties had long been shattered beyond repair. Add to this the dire treatment of poor Hagar by her father, and abandonment by her mother, and the house is left with a deep inter-generational scar, a powder keg of blood and resentment. On the bleak world of Nadir , Fallos had tried unsuccessfully to create a being in her image, a crusader of judgement and flesh, to purify in her name. Malformed and mishapen, the beast instead set its heart on the destruction of it's creator's own works. Taking immediate pleasure in this mistake, Albion set his hearts on the creature, projecting onto it his longing for the daughter he never had, much to the dismay of most onlookers. After some years of wandering, blessed and watched over by the beast's newly adopted father, the now named "Daughter of Malys ", grew to love her work, a merry butcher of meat and pain. Albion's pride radiated onto the world, Hagar despondently watching on from the heavens. It was here the god of monsters and mercy hatched a plan, reaching down to Nadir and plucking Malys from the sky with an enchanted chain. The young fiend was spirited to Hagar's realm, dropped into a faux courtroom to face charges on the crime of existence. In a rage, Albion raced to intervene, spitting curses at his blood daughter's name. He brought with him the grim god Arnor , always ready to stand menacingly with a sword, thirsting for violence. Also rushing to the forefront of the scene were Fallos and Veveliar . Many other gods were likewise present, not wishing to miss the inevitable drama, and potential bloodshed. The trial began with Hagar rattling off a list of offences, some true and many fabricated. The furious Albion refuted them all, blind to the similarity between the charges and Hagar's entire childhood. Hands almost went to swords, Fallos barely able to contain her hatred, Arnor ready to kill without reason. Just when it looked like a melee was inevitable, Hagar gave her sentence. The butcher Malys would be granted innocence, and instilled with a sense of morality, so far kept from her by guardian. Almost instantly, the situation was defused, the audience shocked into silence. Albion, satisfied with the outcome, vanished with his protegé, and Hagar returned to the backlines. Arnor took a moment to square up against his sister, smoldering eyes glaring through a visor. "We shall have this battle yet, dear sister. When a great tempest rages across the cracked earth of Dawn, meet me at it's centre. Our blades shall sing till blood hits the soil." Without waiting for a response, he marched out the room, a trail of visceral footsteps in his wake. True to the grim god's words, eventually there came the year of an enormous storm, tearing across the badlands of Desolan . The young race of humans and creatures of the wastes were buffeted by gale force winds, clouds of sand and dust, trees and shelters ripped from the ground. In the eye of the cyclone stood a lonesome figure, immovable but for a billowing dark cloak. Behind him, embedded into the floor of the arena was an oversized cleaver. Shortly he was joined, a clump of disjounted limbs and tumourous muscle crawling out of the wind. The mass congealed and erupted forth into a downcast Fallos, sword drawn and expression dour. The entire exchange was carried out without a word. First to spill blood would be the victor. Each combatant gave their signal. Arnor began on the attack, bringing his blade downwards in a flurry of overhead flourishes. Fallos, nimble without her usual shield, reflected each strike, waiting for her opening. After an eternity of brutal onslaught, she got her chance, ducking inside the reach of Arnor's longsword, pushing him back with a slam. Fallos swung, her weapon a deadly crescent through the air, pounding against her opponent's pauldron, denting steel, and sparking metal. The fight however was not over, an iron gauntlet crashing into Fallos' jaw, knocking her reeling. Whilst Arnor wound his executioner's blow, Fallos was quick to recover, images of Albion steeling her resolve. Spinning back around, she struck a lightning arc, again impacting on armour, hard enough to topple the grim god. The final climatic seconds. Arnor, desperately turning back to his feet. Fallos, much faster, opens a great rift on Arnor's breastplate, steel, mail and leather strewn across the floor. Thick blood pooled on the parched earth, the defeated god sinking to his knees, inspecting the wound with an ensanguined hand. Fallos took a series of deep breaths of relief, the ordeal over. Time passed, the storm moved on. Arnor took his leave, unable to look towards the victor. Fallos was somehow even more crestfallen, her rage gone with the wind, burdened with a weight of guilt and sorrow. Her self judgement would spill over into a whole new chapter. Left behind in the ground were two blades, the only sign that anything had happened here at all. Category:Event